


Find Me

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Case Fic, Child Death, Child Murder, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Dungeon, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Magical Realism, Murder, Police, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While looking for the answers to one mystery, John and Sherlock discover another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [bethia](http://bethia.livejournal.com/)

John and Sherlock walked through the rusty gate and up to the front door of the dilapidated old building. Their witness had stated she'd seen both the alleged killer and the possible victim enter the house two nights before. Though why anyone would want to come to this run-down old place, John had no clue. He shuddered.

"I'm not sure whether I hope Ms. Lee's information was right or not..."

"Everything else she told us was correct, John. I have no reason to think she was wrong about this." As Sherlock spoke, he was examining the lock. "Ahhh... good, good." Standing up, he took his lock-picking tools out of pocket.

"'Good'?"

"The lock's been picked recently," Sherlock replied, as he worked on the lock himself, "by someone who didn't know what they were doing." As he finished, there was a click, and the knob turned in his hand. He turned and smiled at John.

They entered the house, Sherlock kneeling to look at the floor, no doubt searching for footprints and any other sign of the killer and/or the victim.

"So?"

"Amy Matthews had some rather morbid leanings."

"Pardon?"

"Sanders didn't have to force or coerce her to get her in here. I'm guessing the idea of looking around in an abandoned-" Sherlock suddenly bent over, looking as if he were going to be sick.

"Sherlock?" John rushed to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm all right. Just a little..." he had a sudden look of realisation. "Oh..." He looked up. "John!" He pointed forward. Turning, John saw a small blue figure, which suddenly disappeared around the corner. "Come on!" Sherlock took off in the direction the figure had vanished. John followed close behind. 

"What was that?" John looked around, but couldn't see anyone or anything that would account for the figure and movement he'd seen.

Sherlock walked down the hall, studying everything as he went. Sighing, John followed.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm looking for the girl." He took a few steps forward, then suddenly looked queasy again.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up. "Ah, there she is."

John turned to where Sherlock was looking. Standing at the end of the hall was a blonde girl in a blue dress. John realised she was the blue figure he'd seen earlier. John was puzzled; what was a little girl doing in a place like this, especially since the door had been locked? Looking carefully at her, he noticed that she seemed... hazy; the edges of her body were fuzzy, and it suddenly hit him that he could see right through her to the wallpaper behind her. She was also "standing" nearly half a foot off the floor.

"Oh, God..." He turned to his friend, who was scrolling though his Blackberry, even as he fought back nausea. "Sherlock what are you doing?"

After another second of checking, he made an annoyed face. "I'm an idiot!"

"Oh?"

Sherlock handed John his Blackberry, and turned toward the wall. John looked at Sherlock, then the girl down the hall. "She... she's what's making you sick?"

Sherlock nodded. "They've always had this effect on me."

"'They'?"

"Ghosts, John," answered Sherlock, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He indicated his Blackberry. "Just look, will you?"

"All right, all right..." John looked at what Sherlock had looked up on his Blackberry. It was an article about a man named Jerry Cavendish, who had kidnapped, tortured, and killed nearly two dozen young girls in the 1970's. They were currently standing in his house. "Oh, God..."

"You've said that twice in as many minutes, you know."

"Yeah, well..."

"She's in the basement."

"Pardon?"

Sherlock turned, giving John his _you're an idiot_ look. "Amy Matthews, John. Fred Sanders probably put her body in the basement. Possibly even killed her there..."

"What, he lured her there? 'Hey, baby, wanna see a torture dungeon'?"

"Why else would they come to this house?"

John shook his head. "When you said 'morbid leanings'..."

"I'm actually a bit surprised, myself," Sherlock conceded. "I assumed it was just because it was a 'spooky' old house."

"So, we're going to the basement."

Sherlock nodded, his eyes still on the girl at the end of the hall.

"Would asking her to go away help?"

"Doubtful. I'll manage."

They continued down the hall, then turned down another hall. 

"So," said John conversationally as they walked. "Ghosts are real?"

"Obviously."

"How long have you known?"

"I first saw one when I was eight," Sherlock replied.

"And they always make you... react like that?"

"Yes. Fortunately, they're exceedingly rare. I've only seen four... well, five, now." The detective smiled. "And given my own 'morbid leanings', I would be more likely to see them than the average person."

John nodded with a smile. "True."

 

They arrived at a door with a padlock on its bolt-lock. Sherlock took out his magnifying glass and leaned in to look at the lock. 

"I'm guessing this is the basement. And the lock's been picked."

"By an amateur?"

Sherlock smiled and picked the padlock. He got out his torch. John got his out as well. "Let's go."

As they walked down the stairs. John noticed a dim light at the bottom. "There are windows in the basement?"

"Along the top, probably. Good for us; it'll be easier to see."

Indeed, John found that he could look around the basement. It was a decidedly mixed blessing: It would make finding Amy's body easier, but he could also see various implements still strewn about the basement that told of its horrific past. He saw handcuffs on chains on the wall, and a small cave-like area with bars in front of it that no doubt had once held... John tried not to thing about it. This place was amazingly well-built, a fact that John hated to admit given what it was used for.

"He was a contractor, John, he was quite familiar with building construction," Sherlock commented. John wasn't sure whether he just making a comment or answering John's unasked question about the quality if the workmanship. "He pretty much built this whole... thing... from..."

John turned to see Sherlock who was staring at the ghost girl on the other side of the room.

"Is she following us?"

"Possibly."

"Maybe she's lonely," John said thoughtfully. "Do ghosts get lonely?"

"Don't know," Sherlock replied. "They're not big on conversation." He turned to his partner. "Look at her, John."

John did as Sherlock said, and noticed that the girl was looking at a large tub in the corner of the room. He saw some blood on it, and realised: "She's showing us where Amy Matthews' body is..."

"Hmmm," Sherlock said in agreement. "Would you be so kind? I would rather not get any closer to her than I have to." John looked at him. "To the _ghost_ , John."

"Oh, right... sure."

John walked over to the tub and, as they suspected, saw the body of a young woman in it. "She's here."

Sherlock nodded. He had walked over to a sink set against the wall. "Ahhh..."

"What?" John rushed over. He saw blood, including bloody handprints, on the sink and the tap.

Sherlock pointed, "He tried to wash his hands... he was too stupid to realise the water would be turned off." He turned to John. "Why are people such _idiots_?"

"He probably thought just locking the basement would be enough," John theorized.

"Hmmm." 

Sherlock suddenly bent over, grabbing the sink. He began to dry heave. John leaned over him, rubbing his back. "Sherlock! What's wrong? Is this still her? Why has gotten worse? Can do something to help?"

"She's... upset about... something," he managed between retches.

"What?"

"How the hell should I know?"

John turned towards her, wondering if telling her to leave would work, when suddenly she went straight up, disappearing through the ceiling. Sherlock stopped heaving, and began to take slow, deep breaths.

"That's it," said John, rubbing his back. "Just relax..."

Sherlock stood leaning against the sink for a minute. Suddenly he gasped in realisation, and grabbed his Blackberry out of his coat again.

John couldn't help but smile. "And what have you figured out?"

Sherlock looked through it for a few minutes. Then, with a smile of his own, he handed it to John. "What do you see?"

"Pictures of girls."

"Yes," said Sherlock. "More specially, Cavendish's victims."

"Lovely." Then John noticed something. "Wait a minute, where's..." he pointed vaguely to where the girl who's ghost they'd been seeing.

"Where, indeed."

"She's not one of his victims?"

"I think she was." Sherlock let out a long, slow breath. "Let's go find her."

 

They exited the basement, leaving the door unlocked. 

"I wish there was a floor plan for this house," Sherlock lamented, as he worked on his Blackberry, no doubt looking for that very thing. 

"Well, maybe our little..." John paused, finding it hard to believe he was going to say the next part seriously. "Our little ghost friend will show up and lead us to where her body is."

"I look forward to it," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Any thoughts where that might be?"

"Four," Sherlock replied.

"Where are we going first?" John asked

"Cavendish's bedroom."

"Because...?"

Sherlock was already heading down the hall, back towards the front door. 

As they walked, John asked, "How did you know she was upset? Because you reacted so strongly?"

"Hmm," said Sherlock. "That's also why I reacted the way I did when we first saw her; we surprised her. Any sort of strong negative emotion does it."

John nodded. "What about positive emotions?"

Sherlock looked at John like he'd grown a second head.

"You've never met a ghost who had a positive emotion?"

"No, can't say I have..."

They arrived back at the front door, and Sherlock began looking around. John could see the wheels turning in the detective's head. He suspected Sherlock was trying to figure out where the man's bedroom had been, possibly based on the general layout of the house. 

"Upstairs," he said finally, going to the staircase and taking the steps two at a time per usual. Despite the house's age and state of neglect, it was a sturdy building, and the stairs were still in good shape. John followed after his partner, up the stairs and to the left. 

John knew Sherlock's hypothesis was right when, a few feet from the room at the end of the hall, Sherlock had to stop as the familiar feeling of nausea hit him.

John thought over the situation for a moment. Then he headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go talk to her. I'll explain the situation and maybe she'll-"

"It won't work."

John took a step towards Sherlock. "You know that for a fact?"

"As I said, they're not big on conversation."

"Just because they won't talk to you doesn't mean they won't listen. Have you tried?"

Sherlock sighed. "Actually, I usually just try to avoid them."

"Fair enough," John replied. "But it can't hurt to try, can it?"

Sherlock gave a shrug. "Fine."

"Okay then."

 

John walked into the room and saw the girl standing near the door. She looked up at him, a hopeful expression on her face. 

"Hello," John said. Simplicity seemed like the best route to take. "My name is John. What's yours?"

The girl looked down at the floor. John got a feeling she was upset that she couldn't talk to him.

"It's okay." John walked up and knelt down next to her. "Look, sweetie, my friend and I want to help you, but... well, my friend gets kinda sick when you're around--which isn't your fault. But if you could leave so my friend can look around in here, that would be helpful, Okay?"

The girl looked at him, tilting her head with a thoughtful expression. Then she nodded and sunk into the floor. Smiling, John stood up and headed back out unto the hall.

"All right, all clear."

Sherlock looked at him curiously. "You asked her to leave and she... left?"

"Yep," John said with a smile.

"Huh. I'll be damned."

 

They entered the room, Sherlock immediately scanning the room for hiding places for a body. John really couldn't see any.

"Why the bedroom?"

"She was his first victim," Sherlock explained as he walked round the room. "He wanted to keep her body close to him." Sherlock looked into the wardrobe. "A-ha! Just as I thought."

John came over, looking in. "Care to tell me what I'm supposed to be seeing?

Sherlock looked at John and sighed. "Look, John. _Really_ look. And consider what we're looking for, and Cavendish's profession."

John looked in the wardrobe, not seeing anything special at first. And then: "Wait..." He looked in the wardrobe, then outside. "The... inside is shorter. He..." the thought made him ill. "He put her body behind a false wall in the wardrobe."

"Exactly!" Sherlock grinned like a kid at Christmas. He took out his Blackberry and dialed. "Lestrade? We found Amy Matthews. Oh, and could you bring a sledgehammer with you?" 

 

Lestrade shook his head as he looked down at the body in the tub. "Poor thing..."

John nodded in agreement.

"But, why the sledgehammer?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock smiled. Taking the hammer from one of the police officers, he headed towards the stairs. "Follow me, Lestrade."

"Where are we--" Sherlock just kept walking. John gave an apologetic shrug and followed. Lestrade sighed and turned to Sergeant Donovan. "Keep an eye on things here, will you?" With that, he headed up the stairs.

 

Sherlock was standing near the door to Jerry Cavendish's bedroom, looking a bit green. Lestrade gave him a look.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied peevishly.

John sighed and went into the room. The girl turned to him and smiled. "Hey there." 

She waved. 

"My friend is coming back in, okay?"

She nodded, and again she disappeared through the floor.

John looked out the door, "Okay, guys, come on in."

Sherlock entered the room, a puzzled Lestrade following him. The detective walked into the wardrobe and hit the back wall with the hammer. Another hit and he broke through, creating a fist-sized hole about five feet off the ground. Setting the sledgehammer down, Sherlock pulled on the edge, tearing away a little more of the plasterboard. He then took out his torch and shined it into the hole.

"Ah... come over here, Lestrade."

Sherlock stood off to one side to let Lestrade see what he'd found.

"It's a skeleton. It looks small."

"It's a little girl's," John informed him. The DI gave him a puzzled look. Sherlock already had his Blackberry out and on the right screen. He showed it to Lestrade.

"Jerry Cavendish," Sherlock explained as Lestrade looked through the information about the man. "This was one of his victims. She wasn't found during the investigation."

"Why is she...?"

"In all likelihood, she was his first. He wanted to keep her close to him."

Lestrade shook his head. "I should've taken my mother's advice and become an accountant."

"But think of all the fun you would've missed," said Sherlock with a huge grin.

"And you wonder why people call you a psychopath..."

Sherlock's smile didn't dissipate. "Not really."

John cleared his throat. "Could we..." he indicated the wall.

"Yeah," Lestrade said with a nod. "I'll get some of my guys in here."

 

Sherlock and John stood out of the way as the police tore down the plasterboard to reveal the girl's skeleton. They had most uncovered most of it when John noticed the look on Sherlock's face. Glancing around, he saw the ghost, standing the corner opposite the wardrobe, unnoticed by the police.

"I thought you told her to leave," Sherlock said quietly.

"I did... I guess she decided to come back." He looked at Sherlock, who was clearly annoyed. "You know, in all fairness, this _is_ her body they're..." he trailed off as he noticed Donovan looking at them with her usual scowl. Her eyes drifted over to the corner where the girl was standing, widening when she realised just what she was looking at. She looked at the skeleton behind the wall, and her eyes widened even more.

"Congratulations, Sally," said Sherlock in a mocking tone, "you can actually put two and two together."

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade asked. Donovan just pointed to the corner. "Sergeant, what... the hell?"

Sherlock sighed. "It's a ghost."

"A what?" said one of the other officers with a laugh. Then he turned to look. "Holy shit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, ghosts are real, it's all very exciting. I..." He turned and looked at John.

"What?"

With a thoughtful look, Sherlock took a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and walked towards the wardrobe. 

"Sherlock?"

"Relax, Lestrade, I... just want to try something. I'm wearing gloves, and you've got plenty of pictures. Not that it matters, Cavendish is dead, so it's not like this needs to be kept as evidence."

With that, Sherlock walked up to the false wall. Reaching in, he gently picked up the skull. He looked at it, then over at the ghost. She'd been surprisingly impassive during the whole thing, but she was now giving Sherlock the same thoughtful look she'd given John earlier. Sherlock had a thoughtful look of his own. He turned to Lestrade.

"Would you and your team mind leaving for a bit. I want to try something and I'm not sure what will happen."

Lestrade seemed uncertain.

Sherlock sighed. "Might I remind you that I pointed this place out in the first place. If I wanted to damage it or remove evidence or whatever you think I might do, why would I have bothered to do that?"

"Yes, true... five minutes?"

"That'll work."

 

As soon as Lestrade and his team left, Sherlock looked over to the ghost. Sighing and shaking his head--John could almost hear him thinking, "I can't believe I'm doing this"--he walked over to her. Kneeling in front of her, he turned the skull so it was facing her.

"This is you," he said. "We've found your body. It might take some doing, but we'll figure out who you are, and find any surviving relatives, so they can give you a proper burial."

The girl looked at the skull, then up at Sherlock. She stepped forward, and Sherlock tensed, again looking ill. She stopped, but he shook his head. "Go ahead."

Reaching out, she ran her fingers over the skull. She couldn't touch it, of course, but the way her hands moved make it look as if she were. She smiled, then leaned forward "kissing" the skull's forehead. Looking up, she smiled at Sherlock. He smiled back. Without a word, she walked over to the rest of her remains, curling up in front of them as if going to sleep.

 

Sherlock and John walked out the house and headed towards the gate. John smiled. "That was nice of you."

Sherlock smirked. "Entirely self-serving, I assure you."

"Oh?"

"It was an experiment, John. Your mention of me never having met a... shall we say, 'happy' ghost got me thinking."

John nodded. "Ah... and?"

"Turns out... they still make me sick."

John snorted, then cleared his throat. "Sorry... that's too bad."

"Eh, not really. As I said, they're quite rare. It's not really something I'm terribly concerned about."

John nodded. "So... still feeling ill?"

"No, I'm fine now."

"Good. How does lunch sound?"

"Marvelous."


End file.
